


The Fraudulent Fisticuffs Affair.

by malfoible



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoible/pseuds/malfoible





	The Fraudulent Fisticuffs Affair.

Waverley waiting for the usual loud outburst { Illya shouting, thumping on the desk} was pleasantly surprised.  
On hearing of the latest undercover project. Kuriakin had merely nodded.  
“Yes.”

Waverley looked at Napoleon leaning on the doorjamb.  
“Mr Solo?”

“I think what Illya is saying is, that he will be delighted to be undercover as a boxer as it means he can pound people into the carpet.”

Illya shook his head. “Canvas, not carpet. And boxing is a gentleman’s sport. Two noble combatants, only their own strength to beat their opponent. There are rules… Marquis of Queensbury.”

Waverley and Solo shared a look as Illya went on. “And I shall enjoy pounding criminals into the canvas.”

“We can’t be sure everyone is a criminal Mr Kuriakin, but we do need to find out what this organisation is using the boxing gym as a front for.  
Mr Solo, you will be his manager, I’ve arranged for a well- known trainer to take Mr. Kuriakin under his wing. Good luck.”

Tommy Walker was an old- school trainer, well respected in the boxing fraternity.  
He was enthusiastic about helping Illya train.  
After a couple of days he set up a sparring match at the gym they were wanting to investigate.  
No one was surprised to hear he had come out of retirement to train the keen young Russian.

Solo’s undercover persona was loud and brash.  
He wore a good coat and smoked over-large cigars.  
He was pushy and overly friendly, after a couple of days no one paid him any attention.  
He could move around the place at will. 

The Russians solid stance and unemotional fighting won over most of the other boxers and he began to compete in a couple of bouts.  
After winning them, he was offered the chance to box against a champion from another gym.

Solo had wandered around the whole building, checked the back rooms and the offices.  
There was a discrepancy with the width of one the rooms and he thought there must be an extra hidden room.   
This was born out by the fact that occasionally group of men would enter the office then seem to disappear for a while.

They decided to wait till the evening of the big boxing match to check it out.  
While Illya was keeping all eyes on him in the ring, Napoleon would search the office, find the secret room and hopefully find all the information they would need to bring down the organisation.

The evening of the fight came round quickly.

Solo looking for his partner found him face down on a massage table being given a rub down and last minute orders from Tommy.

Napoleon paused in the doorway.  
Illya was stretched out with only a small towel covering his modesty.  
Tommy was pouring oil over his body then massaging him none too gently, keeping up a commentary on what to expect during the fight.

The sight of his partner like this had Solo sighing softly to himself.  
Illya was so, well, gorgeous, if that was not too flowery a word, beautiful, glistening with oil, the yellow light from above making him glow.

Solo shifted uneasily on his feet, was Illya enjoying this? The oil, the man’s hands rubbing him…stroking him…

Tommy paused and then walked abruptly away out of the opposite door.

Solo couldn’t resist coming closer, moving nearer to his partner on the bed.  
The oil was just there, close at hand, he poured some onto his hands then began to massage Illya, firmly, circles then long straight caresses, feeling the warm skin under his hands, feelings the knots disappear as he massaged them.

Illya began to moan…”Oh that is so good, you make me feel so good, your hands are like magic, rubbing me…” he moaned louder and Solo stepped back annoyed.  
Was Illya so into Tommy touching him? Was he getting horny? Was he getting turned on by another man?

“Don’t stop Cowboy, I was enjoying that, you have magic fingers.”

“You knew it was me?”

Illya sat up. “Of course how could I not know? I hear your footsteps, I smell your aroma, I feel your fingers on me.  
Do you think I haven’t thought about your fingers on me, touching me, rubbing me? Have I not thought about them inside…me?”

Solo was astonished, he knew he was attracted to Illya, he had fought the attraction for months, but he had no idea Illya felt the same, wanted him too.

He began to say so but Illya pulled him close, smashed their lips together and melted Napoleons brain to mush.

Then he pushed him off.

“We have a job to do. You have to go find information, I have to win a fight.” He stood dropping his towel to the floor and bent to pull on some shorts.

Lust surged through Solo, closing his eyes to ignore the vision in front of him he took half a dozen deep breaths and was soon back to his suave self.  
He headed out the door just as Tommy returned.

Illya watched Solo climb the stairs to the office as the first round began.  
He didn’t see him come back out and in the fourth round when he saw some thugs climbing the stairs he began to worry.  
He mentioned it to Tommy and they agreed to go with plan b.  
This consisted of Illya letting the other fighter win and slinking away to his dressing room in defeat.  
Illya was not happy but he could see no other way of finding out what had happened to his partner.

He pulled on a tracksuit over his shorts and sent Tommy outside to fetch the car.

He found Solo trying to talk his way out of trouble, the big Russian filled with rage at having to throw the fight pounded all three miscreants until they could not stand.

“Did you get what we came for?”

“Of course Peril, my end worked perfectly.”

Illya frowned. “My end would have worked perfectly too if I hadn’t had to come rescue you.” 

Solo grinned, “Well I think that’s five for you and six for me.”

“What?”

“Five times you’ve rescued me…”

Kuriakin began counting them off aloud, arguing and complaining, keeping up a running commentary of all the times he had rescued Solo.  
He carried on complaining as he grabbed Solo’s hand and dragged him down the stairs and out to the car.

Tommy drove off immediately and Napoleon ignoring Illya still muttering, opened the files he had grabbed from the office.

“It’s all here, details of the money laundering, the crime syndicate, the way they persuade boxers to throw fights. Waverly will be pleased.”

They reported to Waverley in the room he was using for an office.

“Excellent work Mr Solo, and you too Mr Kuriakin, I’m sorry you had to throw the fight, I had money on you to win.” He smiled.

Illya slammed out of the door.

“Sore point, Mr Waverley, I’ll go calm him down.”

In their suite Illya was throwing clothes into a suitcase.

“We’re not going anywhere for a few days. Why not have a shower, relax, have a drink?”

Illya looked at his partner speculatively. “I do need a shower, and don’t you have a massage you want to finish?” he stripped off the tracksuit and boxing shorts he was wearing and sauntered into the bathroom.

Illya, naked, made Solo’s mouth water.

“Wait for me.”


End file.
